


In Plain Sight

by kcstories



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: thematic_hp, EWE, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-10-30
Updated: 2007-10-30
Packaged: 2018-07-28 17:35:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7650097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kcstories/pseuds/kcstories
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for thematic_hp - Round 8 "Parents and Guardians", prompt #74: "Ginny gets pregnant in a celebratory post-Voldemort shag (anyone, bonus points for Neville.) What are her parents' reactions, and how does she react to becoming a mum? Does she even keep it?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Plain Sight

**Author's Note:**

> **Pairing:** Ginny/Neville (past Harry/Ginny, background Ron/Hermione and Harry/Draco)  
>  **Warnings:** AU-ish. Flangst. Fluff. Implied slash in the background.  
>  **A/N:** The Potterverse is JKR's, not mine. And no, the original prompt wasn't 'shag', but I didn't want to give this story a higher rating just because of one word, so.. :)

Hermione knocked twice, but didn’t bother to wait for a response before she determinedly charged into the dimly lit bedroom.  
  
“You were sick again just now, weren’t you?” she demanded. Her tone was urgent, anxious and laced with a definite hint of accusation.  
  
The girl on the bed nodded slowly. She knew from experience that lying to Hermione Granger would be an exercise in futility, a battle of wills she could never win, and that honesty was always the least painful approach when dealing with her; _always_ , even at a sticky time like this.  
  
Hermione swiftly stepped closer until she was standing next to the bed.  
  
“You’re not coming down with anything, are you, Ginny?” she asked with a worried frown, and bent down to feel the girl’s clammy forehead. “Or maybe it’s something to do with post-war stress? If you’d like, we could go and have a word with one of the Mediwitches? They’re still—”  
  
“No.” Ginny resolutely shook her head. “No,” she continued in a small voice. “It’s nothing like that. I—” She gazed down at her pale, freckled hands and sighed solemnly; then blurted out, “I’m pregnant.”  
  
Hermione’s eyes widened. “Oh my goodness!” she exclaimed. “But—”  
  
‘How?’ seemed like a daft question, especially for the supposedly brightest witch of her age, so instead, Hermione settled for: "Since when?”  
  
Ginny awkwardly fumbled with her blanket. “Do you remember the first victory celebration?”  
  
Hermione nodded. She recalled that night quite vividly. There had been music, dancing and drinks; a lot of drinks. And not long after midnight, many partygoers had sneaked away to continue their celebrations in a more private location.  
  
Hermione, herself, hadn’t, of course. She’d been too busy taking care of Ron, who always had more trouble handling his liquor than most, though this had yet to make him ease up on the booze.  
  
“Does Harry know?” was Hermione's next question because it happened to be the first thought that sprang to her mind.  
  
Ginny gave a nervous cough. “No, he doesn’t, but er-”  
  
Hermione frowned. “Yes?”  
  
Ginny nervously wrung her hands. “It’s er— The baby isn’t Harry’s, Hermione.”  
  
“Oh?” The revelation left her feeling nothing short of gobsmacked.  
  
“Harry and I never actually—” Ginny went on, “but anyway, that doesn’t matter anymore. We broke up long before— well, ages ago. I expected you knew about that?”  
  
“Yes,” Hermione said quickly, “I did. But when I went looking for the two of you that night to tell you I had to take Ron home, and you were both missing, I just assumed...”  
  
“Wherever Harry was, he definitely wasn’t with me,” Ginny said flatly.  
  
Hermione nodded. She carefully studied her friend, who was looking more and more exhausted by the minute.  
  
Truthfully, Hermione was burning to ask her more questions, not in the least about the father of this child she was carrying, but taking Ginny’s poor state into account, Hermione decided all that could wait.  
  
Ginny needed to get some rest first. There would still be plenty of time for everything else later.  


* * *

  
  
It was mid-afternoon when Ginny finally re-emerged from the small bedroom. Her nausea had at last subsided and she was feeling a bit peckish. Some mushroom soup with salty crackers would go down well; and hopefully stay down too, she thought with a wry smile.  
  
When she got to the kitchen, she was surprised to find her mother there, cutting carrots. The woman’s eyes were tired and she wore a worried expression.  
  
“Ah, there you are, love,” Molly said. The smile she gave seemed slightly forced. “How are you feeling? Hermione told me you were a bit under the weather this morning.”  
  
Ginny opened her mouth to reply, but before she could utter a word, Molly continued, “Are you sure you don’t want me to take you to the Mediwitch? I’m certain it wouldn’t take awfully long. It’s probably just a stomach bug; and with one of those modern potions, you’ll be right as rain again in no time.”  
  
Ginny took a deep breath. “It’s not a stomach bug, mum,” she said softly.  
  
Molly frowned. “You’ve already been, then?”  
  
Ginny shook her head. “No, but I took a test the other day.”  
  
“A test? What kind of test?”  
  
“It’s um… I actually bought it in Muggle London last week.”  
  
“ _Muggle?_ Why on earth did you go and buy Muggle medicine? Not that there’s anything wrong with it of course, dear, but ours is just so much more advanced and works a lot quicker. Moreover, ours doesn’t have any of those nasty, synthetic... _chemicals_  Muggles put in, either.”  
  
Ginny swallowed hard. “I went to a Muggle chemist because I didn’t want anyone else to suspect or find out, especially the press, just in case—”  
  
Molly’s frown deepened. “The press?" she repeated, confused. "What does the press have to do with your being under the weather? They haven’t been hassling you about Harry again, have they? Merlin, if I ever get my hands on that Skeeter wench…”  
  
”No,” Ginny said softly and sank down onto the nearest chair. She took a deep breath and asked timidly, “Mum, how would you feel about becoming a grandmother again?”  
  
Molly's eyes widened. Perhaps, she considered, she should have recognised the signs for what they really were, but instead she'd put the subtle weight gain down to more regular, nourishing meals and a better appetite now the war was over, and she'd blamed her daughter's mood swings on the amicable but nonetheless painful break-up with Harry Potter a few months previous.  
  
“Are you trying to tell me,” Molly asked softly, “you're expecting a baby, love?”  
  
Ginny nodded and bit her lip, bracing herself for an angry lecture or a hysterical outburst, or something else that was bound to be anything but pleasant.  
  
Molly, however, didn’t utter a word. Instead, she walked over, crouched down next to her daughter and pulled the stunned girl into a tight hug.  
  
“We’ll sort something out, dear; don’t you worry.”  


* * *

  
  
“I’ll bloody _castrate_ him, whoever he is!”  
  
In truth, it had never been Ron's intention to overhear the conversation between his girlfriend and his sister earlier that day, but now he had, it was proving to be rather difficult to keep his opinion on this newfound knowledge to himself.  
  
“It’s a little late for that, isn't it, Weaselbee?" one of the two other people in the room drawled with obvious amusement.  
  
“Put a sock in it, Malfoy!" Ron snapped. "Why are you still here, anyway? Shouldn’t you be buggering off to France after mummy and daddy?”  
  
“If you must know,” came the dry retort, “I just can’t live without you and would simply pine away and perish without your wonderful company, Weasley.”  
  
“Oh please!” Hermione rolled her eyes. “Knock it off, _both_ of you! This isn’t the time or the place.” Then she turned to Draco and asked, “So what really brings you here, Malfoy?”  
  
“I have an appointment with George, actually,” he said, his tone neutral once more.  
  
“Why?”  
  
“About the shop.”  
  
“What about the shop?” Ron cut in sharply, his angry exasperation fast making room for deep suspicion. Whatever the Ferret was up to now, it couldn't possibly be anything good this time either.  
  
“Please, for the love of everything that is in good taste," Draco said with a roll of his eyes, "do keep your shirt on, _Ronald_. It’s only an investment.”  
  
“You’re going to invest in the shop? Harry would never... Oh, just wait until Harry hears about this, Ferretface! Times may be tough, but if you think for just one second that any one of us would be so desperate as to accept your dirty blood money, then... then..."  
  
Fortunately for all present, George chose precisely that moment to saunter into the room. “Lend me an ear, Malfoy?” he said with a grin.  
  
Hermione threw her hands up in the air. “Oh Merlin. Don’t those ear jokes ever stop? Honestly!”  
  
George and Draco left quickly, and Ron shook his head.  
  
“That I’d ever live to see this day,” he grumbled. “My sister went and got herself in the club. One of my brothers is going into business with Malfoy. Bloody hell! What’s next?”  
  
Frowning, Hermione decided this probably wasn't the right time to tell her boyfriend that Malfoy’s plans with George were nothing compared to what the former Slytherin was currently getting up to with Harry.  


* * *

  
  
“Do you like him, dear?” Molly asked later that afternoon. She had taken some chamomile tea up to Ginny's room, hoping it would settle her daughter’s rebelling stomach.  
  
“Who?” Ginny asked, confused.  
  
“The baby’s father,” she said simply. “It’s not Harry, is it?”  
  
Ginny shook her head.  
  
“Thought not. You know,” Molly went on, “I realise you’ve grown up and are an adult now, love, and you’ve been through more than most and have seen things a person should never have to experience, especially at your age, but—“  
  
Ginny flinched. “You’re mad at me, aren’t you, mum?”  
  
“No. Not mad, dear, just—”  
  
“—disappointed?”  
  
“No.” She ran a hand through her hair. “A little anxious about you and your future, that’s all. You’re still so young, haven’t finished your schooling yet, and you don’t have a fiancé or a husband to support you. I can tell you a baby is a wonderful blessing, but becoming a mother will also alter your whole life, and—“  
  
“I know, mum,” Ginny said with a soft sigh.  
  
“So, about the boy—?”  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“Do you like him?”  
  
Ginny swallowed hard, and decided that here, too, honesty was the best policy. Molly always saw straight through her children’s lies anyway. “I don’t know.”  
  
“Well, maybe you should try and figure that out before you decide what to do about the baby? Maybe he'll want to have a say as well? Or help out, even?”  
  
Ginny hesitated. “Maybe.”  
  
“He is a friend of yours, right? Not some stranger you went out with on a whim?”  
  
"He’s a friend," Ginny said. "Yes."  
  
“Don’t worry; I shan’t pry, love," Molly offered kindly. “Like I said, you’re an adult now, and old enough to make your own decisions. Anyway, I’ll let you get some rest. Hopefully you'll feel better soon.”  
  
“Thanks,” Ginny said, sinking back into the pillows, but then something else occurred to her, something more urgent, “Um, mum?”  
  
Molly turned around again. “Yes, dear?”  
  
“You won’t tell dad yet, will you?”  
  
Molly sighed. “No, love, we’ll tell him when you’re ready. I wouldn’t wait too long, though. Your father’s no fool. He’s bound to figure it out on his own soon.”  


* * *

  
  
A week went by before Arthur was told.  
  
One night, Molly, Hermione and Ginny gently broke the news during a family dinner.  
  
The man took it surprisingly well, even though matters did get slightly strained when Ginny stubbornly refused to name of the father of her child.  
  
Ron asked quite blatantly whether it was Dean Thomas, and when Ginny shook her head, a rather frightening idea hit him and he exclaimed, “Bloody hell, it’s not… sodding _Malfoy_ ’s, is it? Is that why he keeps hanging around here like a vile stench?”  
  
At that point, it wasn’t entirely clear who took the most offence, Ginny or Harry, who to everyone’s astonishment (except, that is, Hermione’s) slammed his fork down, stood up and swiftly exited the room.  
  
Ron didn’t dare enquire any further after that and things soon calmed down significantly.  
  
Arthur did wonder whether the young man partly responsible for his daughter’s predicament should be told and given the chance to do the right thing, but in the end, he had to agree and accept that the final choice was really Ginny’s; and whether or not she even wanted to keep the baby was also entirely up to her.  
  
Though later that night, when he’d had more time to ponder the matter, he did tell his wife he rather liked the idea of another grandchild, and a baby probably wouldn’t limit Ginny’s future plans that drastically.  
  
After all, they were a tight knit family; everyone would help and pitch in, in any way they could. That was what families were for, after all. And everything would be just fine. Things would have some way of working out. They always had before.  
  
Molly agreed wholeheartedly, and that night she dreamed of nursery patterns and pink socks she’d knit for a pretty little baby with a tuff of red hair.  


* * *

  
  
One sunny Monday morning two weeks later, there was a hesitant knock at the door of a Camden flat.  
  
The door opened and two brown eyes, wide with surprise and something akin to hope, looked the unexpected visitor up and down.  
  
“Ginny? Er- hi. What are you doing here?” Neville Longbottom stammered, and added quickly, “Er- not that you’re not welcome, of course you are. Come in! Come in! Would you like some tea or coffee?”  
  
“No thanks,” she said softly, “but I was wondering if, maybe, I could have a word? I mean, if you have time? It’s quite important.”  
  
“I always have time for you, Ginny,” he replied sincerely and then blushed when a sudden urge to kick himself took over. Could he have been any more tacky and overeager there, honestly?  
  
“Thanks,” she said and followed him to the living room where they both sat down.  
  
Ginny noticed the place was small but tidy and quite cosy as well, in its own way.  
  
“So, what’s up?” Neville asked, visibly nervous. “You know, I kept meaning to Owl you, but after the way you left that morning—“  
  
“Um, yes, I—“ She took a deep breath. “I’m sorry about that.”  
  
“I didn’t know if it would be… well, _proper_ , given the circumstances.”  
  
“Circumstances? What circumstances?” Ginny asked, confused.  
  
She was certain Neville had no idea about her pregnancy. Everyone who did know had agreed to keep it a secret; even Malfoy, which had been something of a surprise initially; at least until his own secret had surfaced.  
  
“You went back to Harry, didn’t you?” Neville explained. “The two of you made up. It’s not like everyone didn’t see that coming all along.”  
  
“No,” Ginny said with a wan smile. “Definitely not. Even if I was still interested in him, it would never work; he’s queer.”  
  
Neville blinked, wondering whether his ears were playing tricks on him. “Pardon me? What did you just say?”  
  
“He prefers blokes, Neville,” Ginny explained, “and one bloke in particular, and it’s probably the last person you’d ever expect.”  
  
Neville frowned. “So Harry’s… _gay_ ,” he finally said.  
  
Ginny nodded. “And shagging Malfoy,” she added for good measure.  
  
“Malfoy,” Neville echoed dumbly. “Bloody hell!”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“Sorry,” Neville said; because that reply made some sense to him, even while in that very moment nothing else did.  
  
Ginny shrugged. “It’s all right. I’m over him; have been for a long while. We’re better off as friends. And besides, that’s not what I came here to talk to you about.”  
  
Neville looked at her questioningly.  
  
“That night we—” she hesitated. “I mean, after the celebrations—“  
  
Neville coughed nervously and was unable to stop the sudden, furious blush from creeping up his cheeks. “What about it?”  
  
She swallowed hard before she continued, “I suppose we weren’t as careful as we should have been; well, we weren’t careful at all, really, as far as I can remember, but—“  
  
“Yeah?” Neville’s voice was strained.  
  
“I’m pregnant,” Ginny finally said, “and it can’t possibly be anyone’s but yours.”  
  
Neville blinked, and all he could manage in response was a baffled “Oh.”  
  
“Yeah,” Ginny said quickly, “and I’ve decided— well, I want to keep it. I know I’m young and I suppose I won’t be a professional Quidditch player now like I’d hoped, at least not right away, but you know—“ she smiled almost apologetically, “—this baby’s a part of me, and I couldn’t just—”  
  
Neville swallowed hard. “No, of course you couldn’t,” he muttered, mostly to himself.  
  
“Anyway,” she continued, “I just thought that you should know, that you had the right to hear it directly from me, and since you’re the father, I was wondering—“  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“—if you’d want some part in his or her life? I mean, we’ve been friends for ages and it’s your kid as well and it seems only fair to me that— well, even if we’re not in a relationship— I know you don’t have a lot of family left and Harry (of all people; how ironic, right?) thought you might want to— well, that this might be important to you, to be a dad to someone.”  
  
She took a deep breath and hoped sincerely that her words made some sort of sense. They’d sounded far better rehearsed in front of a mirror earlier that morning.  
  
Neville ran a trembling hand through his hair. “You want me to be an actual dad to the kid?” he asked hesitantly, unsure whether he’d understood her intentions correctly.  
  
Ginny nodded. “But no pressure, of course,” she added quickly. “I mean, I don’t expect you to make an honourable woman out of me or even for us to live under one roof; I can raise the baby on my own too, it just seemed… fair and honest to tell you before you heard about my pregnancy from someone else and started to wonder if—”  
  
She bit her lip and waited.  
  
Neville got up and began to pace the room. He looked like someone deeply involved in some kind of internal struggle, and he was also growing paler by the second, causing Ginny to worry he might pass out or have a heart attack or worse… Should she call a doctor, she wondered?  
  
“Neville?” she said carefully.  
  
It was enough to snap him out of whatever reverie he was caught up in.  
  
“Merlin, Ginny,” he blurted out, “I’ve fancied you since my fourth year. Why else do you suppose I asked you to the Yule Ball and was so over the moon when you accepted? Of course I want a part in this kid’s life; and in yours too—” he took a deep breath “—if you’ll have me, that is. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I don’t expect anything from you in return; just to start as good friends, spend time together, and I’ll also support you: financially, emotionally, anything you need, and then we’ll see where all this leads; well, if it leads anywhere at all… No strings or obligations, like I said.”  
  
Ginny’s eyes widened as he went on, "I don't expect you to fall head over heels in love with me, Gin. I’m fully aware that I’m no Harry Potter, not by any stretch of the imagination, but I do want to be there to look after you, and you can always rely on me and count on me as a friend; you and the baby both.”  
  
Her eyes unexpectedly filling with tears, she looked at him then, and it was as though she was seeing him for the very first time; that brave, loyal, shy young man, and no, he was no Harry Potter, but then did Harry Potter even fit into the equation anymore?  
  
Neville meant what he said with all his heart and something reflected in his eyes told her he’d mean it forever.  
  
Ginny instantly realised she had a shot at a future here; one that had probably been in front of her the whole time, but all the while she’d been too blinded by pointless, juvenile hero worship to be able to see it.  
  
Neville had always been there for her, waiting in the shadows to catch her fall, to wipe away her tears and to reassure her that everything would be just fine.  
  
Yes, Neville had always been around, she thought with ever-increasing clarity, and maybe that was precisely the reason why she’d never really noticed him.  
  
“All right,” Ginny said at last, her voice quavering slightly. “I think I’d like that very much.”  
  
Neville's smile could have lit up the whole of London.

 


End file.
